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Tuesday, 22 July 2014

The new Horror Bites photo prompt offered lots of different avenues for a little horror tale, and although I had one idea in mind, it turned into another as I wrote. Enjoy!

Elisabeth lay on the sun lounger and tried to relax, soaking
up the last of the Italian sun. She moved a strand of hair out of her face and
noticed her nails. The enamel was starting to chip. She wondered if the beauty
salon in the resort was any good. Then she noticed a dark line under one of
them and picked at it, wiping the flakes of dried blood off on the cushion.

She sighed. It was all Paul’s fault, him and his silly
possessive behaviour. If he had just let it a rest, they could’ve had a nice
holiday. But no, he had to make a thing of it, didn’t he? It wasn’t her fault
she was an attractive woman and other men liked to compliment her. And it
wasn’t as though she would’ve gone off with the guy either; his fat paunch was
enough to put any woman off. It was the same on every trip.

They only had two days left and Elisabeth wondered how long
it would be before the body was discovered. At least for the moment the ‘do not
disturb’ sign was working.

She watched Paul come round the pool. He looked pale, his eyes
darting all over the place.

“It’s still there.” He breathed as he lay back on the sun
lounger next to her.

“I told you it would be.”

“How can you be so calm?”

“How will making a fuss help?” She adjusted the sunglasses
on her nose.

“I managed to change the flights.”

“When to?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good, that’s give me enough time to get a pedicure.”

“Christ!” Paul hissed. “How can you think of that at a time
like this?”

“Paul, it wasn’t me that caused this mess, you were the one
that picked a fight with him!”

“He was asking for it.”

“You should learn to leave well alone, remember Portugal?”

Paul didn’t respond. She knew he wouldn’t. The police car
had pulled up just as they were leaving the hotel. She wondered if they’d be so
lucky this trip.

Wrapping up the serial for my Daily Picspiration was initially difficult. I wasn't sure how to make the leap, but then I focused on answering questions from the last episode, and it sort of fell into place. I used both pictures this week too. I've really enjoyed the surreal aspects of this series. I really enjoy that part of the writing. But I am looking forward to a few one off pieces for a while.

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Last weeks Mid-Week Blues-Buster turned out to be the final one for a while, due to the low turnout. I have also not been that good at turning in a piece, but I have also had a turn judging - which I love to do. I enjoyed writing this story, and it earned me a 2nd place. I will be sad to see the end of this and hope Jeff Tsuruoka brings it back in the autumn.

The prompt song this week was:

'Going South' by Stan Ridgway

Jim flicked his cigarette ash out the window of the Carrera
911. He loved the car, even though he was defiling it by smoking, but he didn’t
care, it wasn’t his - or ever likely to be.

He loved doing this job, being out in the dead of night,
driving empty roads from state to state. But of course he loved the wad of cash
at the end more…although it never seemed to last.

He’d tried to put some by, but it never seemed to work.
Trish blamed his love of fruit machines, but really the fault lay in his
location; Vegas wasn’t a city you could save money in – especially when you
liked to have a flutter now and then. Trish would say it was more now than
then, but he didn’t hear her complaining when he splashed out on a big meal for
them both.

As a breeze picked up across the Nevada desert, cooling the car interior, Jim
thought about Trish. Did he really want to keep things going, or was it time
for a fresh start? This job would pay enough for an inter-state move, and he
could finally satisfy the hankering he’d had for the bright lights of LA. But was
he too far in to cut and run? He didn’t think so. It wasn’t as though he was
signed up to paying rent at her place. Still, a twinge of guilt crept in.

He sighed, that was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid when they’d
started fooling around together. He didn’t want to get tied to anyone, and she’d
professed the same, although he knew that was what women said. But she was
totally into her job as a showgirl, and he wasn’t even sure she was faithful –
there were many nights she hadn’t come home, although she’d insisted it was due
to work.

He never made a fuss, what was the point? He didn’t care. As
long as he was still getting plenty, what did it matter? He found it odd at the
beginning when she’d refused to let him come and see her show, but now he
considered it the norm. He understood the need to keep work and personal life
separate. It wasn’t as though he told her much about what he got up to. He was
sometimes away for days and she didn’t question it, or give him a hard time.

He sighed again. Thinking about it like that made him wonder
if really did want to quit. He shook his head. He needed to follow his dream,
and living in Vegas wasn’t it. Trish wasn’t it. They only really tolerated each
other. He was going to cut and run, it was best for everyone. But first he had
to get this car delivered.

A road sign warned him he was approaching the Mexican border.
He found a spot to pull over and check the car. He made sure the plates were
fixed properly and there were no distinguishing marks. He spent more time that
normal and put it down to his love of Carrera’s, but there was something
niggling him, he just didn’t know what.

He set off again and the lights at the border control came
into view. He pulled in, cool and calm. They asked him to step out as he knew
they would – a car like this always drew attention. He remained collected,
giving them all the false documents.

But then another car showed up, an unmarked one, and he felt
his stomach begin to churn.

They walked him to a customs hut and left him there to greet
the new arrivals. He went through the story in his mind, the one he always had
as backup. Plead ignorance to stall an arrest,and play the victim of a car
thief. He’d slithered out of this before, he could do it again.

Then the door opened and two plain-clothes police officers
came in. One was a woman; he smelled her perfume as she passed. He liked it, it
reminded him of Trish. Then she pulled up a chair in front of him and straddled
it. It was Trish.

Being a writer I couldn't miss this weeks Five Sentence Fiction photo and prompt
word. I'm just managing to get it in before the new one comes out. I'm also going with a totally made up name. I hope it works. Enjoy!

Feminy flicked through the pages of the book trying hard to
remember what it was he’d said about where she should look, trying to visual
him saying the words in her mind as he’d said them to her.

“Somewhere in the middle it’s there, hidden between the lines,
several words in sequence reading vertically, and if you read them out loud
it’ll manifest what you are looking for.”

She tried lying the book open on the table to see where the
pages would fall, hoping it would turn to the right one automatically if the
spine had been broken at right point due overuse of this particular cantation –
but it didn’t; several pages remained upright and there was no definition.

Feminy sighed, knowing she would have to go with own her
intuition instead, although she didn’t have complete faith in it. She took a
deep breath and opened the book, planting a finger on the top line and reading out
loud each word she found in the middle of every sentence, her flow only being
broken by a smile as the world around her began to shimmer.

J. Whitworth Hazzard has set up a Kickstart project in order to publish the final episode and paperback compendium of the 5-star rated "Dead Sea Games" saga. I have read this saga and it is one of the fastest moving, on-the-edge-of-your-seat reads I have had in a long time. I can't wait for the fourth episode to come out - and I can't wait to get all four of them in print! You can buy the first three episodes of the saga on amazon.

The Flash Fiction contest is also to promote my newly published Personal Writing Critique website, which I have set up to offer a critiquing service. One of the prizes for the winner is a 20-page writing critique from myself.

The prompt for the contest is a setting:

The people are gone but the zombies remain. Somewhere in this
concrete and steel jungle are a thousand stories of bravery, heartbreak,
love, and adventure. What will yours be?

Your flash fiction piece MUST…

…be 500 words or less.

…be posted to your blog before July 27th at midnight, EST.
... (if you don't have a blog, we can post it for you)

…conform to reasonable standards of adult society (read between the lines, folks)

…include the promotional links highlighted below

…be set in New York City after the zombie apocalypse.

The
setting is similar to the setting of Dead Sea Games, but don’t let that
hem in your creative spirit. We want to read all of the great stories
that I know can come from this great big melting pot of humanity—totally
gone to hell-in-a-hand-basket. Your piece can be any genre, any
universe, any characters (even mine!), any set of rules you like. Just
be entertaining and make us feel.

Sunday, 13 July 2014

This last week's Visual Dare took a little while to surface, but once I had the opening line it poured out, turning a sad tale. I absorbed the photo in the store, the word only reflecting in the new found job of the speaker. Enjoy.

Her heart broke to watch him. Everyday he came carrying
roses. Everyday they were a different colour. She wondered if they represented
something - an emotion of some sort. She didn’t know. He’d always sit on the
ground at the foot of the grave for at least an hour, clasping his knees,
sobbing.

He’d often speak between those sobs, crying out his pain, as
though talking to her and she’d listen, dismayed by the guilt that wracked his
soul. He was innocent; the car accident had been just that: an accident; his
heart was pure. She’d always known that, even when she was alive and able to
touch and hold him, able to return the adoring love.

But now all she could do was sit here and watch, the only
comfort the wings on her back, reassuring her that she’d never leave him and
always be here to protect him.

Wednesday, 9 July 2014

The new Horror Bites photo prompt was an interesting one this time, and provoked all kinds of ideas, but this one stayed with me. Enjoy!

When the sack arrived Herman was intrigued. Everything in
the post room came in a dull grey, so silver stood out, catching the eye and
glimmering in the muted overhead lights.

He heaved it up onto the counter, curious what could be so
heavy; it was bulkier than normal post bags and less flexible. He pulled at the
draw string and a pair of shoes fell out.

Herman jumped back startled, then checked no-one had
noticed. Fortunately the repetitious sorting of letters was still taking up everyone’s
attention.

With thumb and forefinger he gingerly picked up one of the
ladies pumps. His heart raced and fear clenched his stomach as he recognised
it. When he picked up the other one he found a spot of blood on the heel and
couldn’t help but release a moan as his initial dread increased.

A couple of colleagues heard the sound and looked over.
Seeing Herman with a hand on his stomach, one called out, “If you’re gonna up
chuck, go to the toilet and do it, will ya?”

He didn’t respond; his eyes transfixed on the scarf that had
fallen out too. There was more blood on it and he knew that if he looked
further he’d find more than just clothing.

His mind raced. How had it arrived here in front of him? Who
had sent it? Who knew?

Herman took furtive glances round him, sure someone must be
watching, but those that hadn’t gone out on deliveries were busy filling their
bags; no-one was looking.

He gathered himself, taking in a breath as he stuffed the
shoes and scarf back into the bag and pulled the draw string tight. Then he
lifted it onto the trolley with the other bags ready for his van.

He’d take it out with him and find a safe place to dump it,
but he had to be careful, clearly someone was observing him. Although, if he
played this right Lizzy’s body would be the only one he’d be dispensing with today.

The knot of fear released and he laughed as he got in his
van. That would make two in two days. He was getting quite good at this murder
lark.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

This last week's Visual Dare prompt couldn't be missed; such a provoking picture, begging so much possibility. It could offer surreal, but I went with symbolism, using as many facets as I could find. Enjoy.

He had to think carefully about his next move. He’d seen
others go under and it wasn’t pretty. Some of them were sure they’d reached the
other side safely too. They hadn’t realised they’d overextended themselves.

Like a game of chess you had to think about their move as
well as your own, and you had to see several moves ahead, otherwise you didn’t
stand a chance.

Last time he’d made a move without thinking his life had
been turned upside down. For months he’d felt like he was walking through a
desert; he couldn’t catch a break no matter how much effort he put in. But he’d
kept on going, because that’s what you do, isn’t it? It wasn’t like you had
options.

He had to keep the board turned his way this time; he had to
keep his opponents guessing. Life was a precarious business.

This time it was tough coming up with a continuum of the story I had created for my Daily Picspiration serial. I struggled with where I wanted to go with it. But I had the idea of the sunflower being given to the lead MC, Elise, and once I started writing it, the rest fell into place. I do enjoy writing surreal stuff. I find it limitless, enabling the writer to see round corners and explore more possibles than are apparent. Enjoy.

Wednesday, 2 July 2014

This week the Five Sentence Fictionprompt word is felt rather than used. I worked more with the photo and what it inspired. A softer, gentler story for me this time. Enjoy.

Lilly’s heart soared when the beautiful ballerina stepped
out; the graceful steps she took to the spotlight mesmerising her, her eyes
fixed on the ballerina’s perfectly poised hand as she positioned herself to
begin.

Lilly’s breath caught in her throat as the hypnotic
pirouette increased in speed, to such a point she could no longer see the
ballerina’s face, just the perfect outline as she spun on her blocked toes.

Lilly clutched her mother’s hand when the male dancer leapt
onto the stage and picked up the ballerina, tossing her about as though she was
nothing but a feather being buffeted in a breeze.

Then as they danced together, each step in sync, not a
ballet shoe out of place, and Lilly’s heart ached for such an interaction.

When the curtain came up and the audience gave them a
standing ovation - those closest showering the stage with roses - Lilly knew
what she wanted to be when she grew up.